MIRROR, MIRROR
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: E/O Drabble Challenge.  Prompt: A picture's worth a 1000 words. The picture provided was a decaying house.  What's so special about the red brick house?  Sam thinks he knows.  But finding out puts Dean in danger.  General spoilers for Season 6.


I tried and tried to upload this last night (Monday) to no avail, but luckily my work computer is playing a bit nicer with the website this morning, so here it is—my 1000 word drabble challenge. Not sure if it's a good write or not, but it is what it is. Enjoy! _(hopefully)_

Ness

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><p>Enkidu07's Drabble Challenge <strong>(General spoilers for Season 6).<strong>

Prompt: No word this week. The challenge was "A picture's worth a 1000 words". The picture provided was a dilapidated ruin of a house.

Word Count: For me the picture was worth 1300 words. Sorry.

Other players in the challenge are now too many to list here! There're lots of people throwing Supernatural snowballs. You can find the list of names at Enkidu07's profile page and/or OnyxMoonbeam's profile page. Also, to find all of the lovely drabbles, there's a sweet little C2 community out there to subscribe to and enjoy. You can find the link on their profile pages mentioned above.

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><p>Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's sandbox.<p>

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><p><strong>Mirror, Mirror<strong>

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

The house, clearly once majestic with its three floors and round turret, stood, decrepit and dark, piteously listing sideways while managing to still sag in the middle; its scabrous façade resolute in the face of its slow demise. A roiling mass of sullen gray clouds pressed down from above, seeming to encourage and hasten imminent collapse.

Peering through the fat drops of rain splattering against the Impala's windshield, Dean squinted over at the abandoned dwelling. "Well, that looks encouraging," he muttered.

"I told you it wouldn't be in good shape," Sam reminded him, "Everyone around here refuses to go near it."

"And what are we doing here?"

"I told you. I promised Bobby we'd check it out."

"But what you _didn't_ tell me is _why_. So out with it, bro. The truth. Or I'm driving away right now."

Sam squirmed in his seat. "It—it—might…" The rest of Sam's statement was a mumbled mess.

"Say that again…in English this time, Sammy."

"I said, there might be a back door to Purgatory somewhere in there."

"What! No. No. Dammit, Sam. We are not going in there!"

"Dean, please. It's a lead. C'mon, man, we have to at least check it out."

"You mean to tell me Bobby thinks a back door to Purgatory is inside that house," Dean growled.

Sam looked down at his boots. "Well, not exactly. Bobby doesn't really know. I just asked him to find an address. I didn't say why. This—this is—was—my idea."

"Sonuvabitch." Dean's voice was low and acidic. "Why? How'd you know of this place?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. I had a dream. A nightmare. Whatever."

"A memory from behind the wall?"

"I don't know. But the image of this place wouldn't go away."

"Great. Just great. So I trust you were a good little Dutch boy and kept your thumb in the dike. Right? Right, Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean, I did. But I—I just want to check this place out. That's all."

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "Fine. And how will we know if we find this door?"

"It'll be cold."

"Cold? Not hot?" The idea seemed counterintuitive.

Sam shook his head. "Extremely cold."

The older Winchester stared at Sam for a moment, his face grim. "All right. Let's go. We'll do a quick recon and that's it. Got it?"

"Yeah. I got it."

Dean grabbed the arm of Sam's jacket in his fist. "Sam, I'm not kidding around. We look, we get out. Period. If there's anything to this, we regroup and figure it out."

The younger hunter sighed, pulling gently out of his older sibling's hold. He knew now that Dean's bossiness came from a place of worry nothing more. He turned a completely earnest gaze on Dean. "Dean, I've got it, okay? I won't do anything stupid—not this time."

The pair exited the vehicle and made their way toward the old house. The steps groaned as they climbed and the front door protested long and loud when Dean pushed it open and entered, Sam on his heels. Puffs of grit and dust pouffed around their boots with each step.

Dean pushed aside long strands of sticky gossamer cobwebs as they moved deeper into the interior. He shuddered when stray strands stubbornly clung to his face and head. Frowning in distaste, Dean spit and sputtered, wiped his hands on his jeans and peered into the gloom, the windows offering only nominal illumination. "Well? Where do you want to start?"

Sam looked around then pointed up. "Why don't we start on the third floor and work our way down?"

Silently the brothers made their way upward breaking to the left and right respectively at the top of the stairs. After clearing two rooms, Dean touched the last door to which he came, felt nothing but old, rotted wood beneath his palm. Shoving the door inward, he stepped across the threshold and found himself in the uppermost turret room.

By all appearances, it had suffered the same ruinous fate as the other two rooms, except for, strangely enough, the varied collection of gold-framed mirrors, all shapes and sizes, on the moldy walls. Intrigued, Dean stepped farther into the room and approached the mirror closest to him. His own warped reflection stared back. He reached up and touched the matte silvered surface, frowning slightly at its unexpected warmth. Turning away, Dean approached the next mirror, failing to notice as he did so that his first reflection stayed where it was in the mirror. It tilted its head, expression morphing to one of sheer malevolence as it smiled.

He was halfway across the room when a soft sound behind him had him turning around. Movement caught his eye and he was stunned to see his now-animated reflection dragging itself from within the mirror, not unlike Blood Mary all those years ago. More noise and movement revealed more reflections climbing from within their mirrors.

Dean turned and brought his shotgun to bear but was surrounded before he could squeeze off a shot. Without warning, an arm snaked around his neck, tightening brutally, and cutting off his air. He found himself yanked off balance and dragged backward. His heels drummed against the floor as he struggled. Hands numb, his grip on the shotgun loosened and it clattered to the floor.

The reflection melted back into the mirror, pulling Dean up the wall, head and shoulders breaching the silvered surface as he gasped and choked, unbearable heat surrounding him. Black dots twirled and tumbled in front of his eyes and the edges of his awareness were rapidly graying out.

"Dean! No, dammit! Dean!" The sharp shattering of glass accompanied the frantic shouting.

Dean suddenly dropped to the floor with a loud thunk. His head bounced hard off the floor and he saw stars. Coughing and wheezing he curled into a ball, desperate to draw air into his lungs as he fought the call of oblivion. More echoes of shattering glass reverberated around him.

Then his brother was there, pulling him into his lap. "Dean! Hey, man, c'mon, look at me—look at me."

Dean blinked up at Sam, his eyes wet and glassy. "S'mm, wha' t'hell happn'd," he rasped around his abused airway.

"I dunno, Dean, I dunno. Something had a hold of you, was dragging you into the mirror."

"Me."

"What?" Sam frowned, confused.

"I-it was m-me," Dean's voice was a croak whisper, "M-my r'flection. Din't you see?"

Sam's hand tightened on Dean's shoulder. "All I saw was a blurry black shape. This place might be a back door to somewhere but I don't think it's Purgatory."

The older Winchester fidgeted, rubbed weakly at his throat. "Tha' sucked," he wheezed.

The house suddenly moaned, groaned, and creaked around them. Outside, lightning flashed and sizzled and an ear-splitting crack of thunder sounded.

"Can you walk?"

"Mmmm hm."

More creaks and keening. Sam grabbed Dean beneath the arm. "I-I think we need to get out of here." He hoisted his brother to his feet, steadied him as his knees buckled. "Whoa. Easy. I got ya."

Together they made their way down the stairs, out the front door, and into the torrential rain. By the time they reached the Impala, Dean was leaning heavily into Sam, feeling like he was on a poorly balanced merry-go-round. He dropped gratefully into the passenger seat, sighing in relief when the car rumbled to life and vibrated comfortably beneath him a few seconds later. Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"S'm?"

"Yeah?"

Dean swallowed and grimaced, hand reaching for his throat again. "Why'd you dream about that place?"

"I dunno, Dean." Sam looked back at the abandoned structure, a troubled expression resting hard on his face. "I dunno. Guess that's the question of the day."

_**FIN**_


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